The Hand That Feeds
by Allegra
Summary: Richard is blackmailed by a local baron desperate to improve his business, but what happens if his family is caught in the crossfire?


THE HAND THAT FEEDS

Author:Allegra

Disclaimer: The following is fan fiction & acknowledges the copyrights of ABC Television, Gil Grant Productions, ITV etc.

Note: Forgive the gaping holes in character motivation etc., it was a means to an end!  
Any feedback would be welcomed.

* * *

It had been a long and arduous day for Richard, going over the account books for his father. The crops were doing well, but the first months were always the most precarious; one bad rain or drought could wipe out all the workers' hard work in a few hours. Richard was knackered and, for the past few hours, his mind had been creating a tantalizing image of a large jug of mead. Finally putting the dusty papers to bed, he quickly slipped out of the castle to the village tavern before anyone could stop him.

Through the inky night, the tavern lights were like an oasis of civilisation, laughter carrying along the empty track towards Richard's approaching horse. Tying his steed to a nearby standing post, he stepped inside the welcoming warmth and friendly bustle, barging his way to his usual table in the far corner. On any normal day, Richard would be on the prowl for the most innocent and comely serving wench he could find, but tonight he longed only for the feel of that bitter sweet liquid pouring down his throat. Company was the last thing on his mind, so, retreating to the corner, he rubbed his eyes slowly and ran slender fingers through his long, tousled hair. "Well, if it ain't Master Richard. What can I get for you tonight, my lad?"

Barely raising his eyes to the buxom girl, Richard replied, "The usual, Agnes."

Clearly put out by his lack of attention, the young woman stalked away from the table only to return moments later with renewed vigour. She gently placed a tankard in front of the fetching man, then ran a coarse hand over his. "Let me know if you want any company, Sir Grey." The title was spoken with jest and was followed by her hand running through his thick curls. Richard managed a short smile of acknowledgement before returning his concentration to the mead in front of him.

He was not alone long before Richard became dimly aware of a figure standing at his elbow. Raising his head, he was surprised to see a rough, peasant fellow with a thick black beard and moustache, darting black eyes and raven hair slicked back from his forehead. His clothes were clearly those of a labourer and Richard was about to bark a rather unpleasant insult at him for interrupting his peace when the man opened his mouth. "Could you spare some coins to buy a man a drink? I have been working all day and my throat is parched."

Richard had no money on him at all, having spent it on gambling or drink days ago. The tavern owners never asked him for payment, knowing that he would honour it in his own time. Without so much as pretending to search his person for coins, Richard replied, "No. I am afraid I have none with me." Expecting that to be the last of it, he refilled his tankard from the large earthenware jug.

"I see, you jumped up sissies from the castle think you are too good to mingle with the likes of us! If it were not for our labour, you wouldn't have a castle to live in at all."

Expelling a long sigh of exasperation, Richard quietly retorted, "And were it not for us, you wouldn't have a home or a job, so I suggest you think more carefully before you make accusations against my family again."

The peasant narrowed his eyes at Richard whose own challenging gaze did not waver. Turning back to a group of peasants crowded around the large fireplace, the man left Richard alone. Draining his tankard down to the dregs, Richard leaned back against the settle; his evening had been ruined by yet another ingrate and the only remedy now would be to return to Covington Cross and the warmth of his own bed. Pulling on his gloves, he headed for the door.

He had not gone more than a few yards down the track before the sound of someone clearing their throat nearby brought him to attention. A moment later, the man who had accosted him in the tavern was standing, barring his path. "I believe we have a quarrel to settle, sir."

The mocking sneer in his voice was quite clear, and Richard was in no mood for a fight. Fatigue was bringing out his irritability more quickly than usual and his response was short. "I have no quarrel with you. Now, if you would excuse me..."

The man moved closer, grabbing the reins of Richard's horse. "Oh, I think we do, and I will not leave until it is resolved."

Richard let an annoyed sigh escape his lips, then glanced up at the already overcast sky. It looked like rain, and he did not want to stand around to find out if he was right. "Very well, you are forgiven. Good evening."

He spurred his horse into movement, but the horse whinnied against the conflicting commands, Richard's and the peasant whose hold was still firm on the creature's bridle. Angered by this fellow's rialling, Richard swung his leg over the horse and dismounted. At this sudden gesture, the man released the horse and stood back, his fists raised. Richard paused for a moment, then unbuckled his sword and sheath, placing them on the ground beside him. If he must fight, it would be done fairly.

Richard struck the first blow, which hit his aggressor squarely on the jaw, and so the fight commenced, blow for blow until they had wrestled each other to the ground. Richard had, by now, gained the upper hand and when he felt the man's body sag slightly beneath him, he stood up, convinced of his victory. Sparing a pitying glance at the soiled form flailing in the mud, Richard stated, "I think our quarrel is settled, sir."

He stalked back to his horse, picking up the sword just in time to realize that the man was up and running towards him. Without a moment's hesitation, Richard unsheathed his weapon and turned on the peasant. Before either man could say a word, Richard's aggressor had impaled himself on his blade, his face momentarily frozen into a contorted expression of shock and pain. His eyes wide with fright, Richard withdrew the sword from the man's stomach and backed away. The man raised one hand towards his murderer, then crumpled into the mud, lifeless. Richard knelt beside him, checking for any signs of life but his efforts were futile. The sounds of hooves quickly shocked him into action, and he lifted the man to the side of the track, in the shadow of the woods and undergrowth, then speedily mounted his horse, spurring back towards Covington Cross.

Richard's heart lurched in his chest, his head spinning with the startling reality of what he had done - killed a man in a trivial tavern fight, worse still, an unarmed man. By the time his horse slowed over the drawbridge, Richard could barely think straight, plans of escape forming, excuses for his hasty actions or even the burial of the body. He could never explain himself to his father, and, regardless of the peasant's status, he was still a human being, someone for whom the Grey family were responsible. The grim irony of the situation reared its ugly head, the knowledge that he had killed a person whose welfare he had been entrusted with.

Dismounting the stallion as calmly as possible, Richard handed the reins to the stable boy and made some casual remark about doing a survey of the land for his father. Then, as he mounted the staircase, Richard began to think his words were ill placed, only seeming even more unusual. He rarely spoke to the stable hands at all beyond a few orders and now he was accounting his actions for the evening. Richard cursed himself under his breath, slipping into his chambers undetected by any of his family. He was grateful to find the tub filled with warm water, a ritual for a Tuesday night. Fate was on his side; at least he could clean the mud from his body and clothes before anyone could ask any damning questions concerning his whereabouts for the past few hours.

* * *

Richard sank beneath the warm water, ducking his head to try and get rid of the grit in his tangled hair. Scrubbing his flesh vigorously, he wiped away the mud and the heady scent of the dead man's sweat, then attempted to eliminate the guilt as well, passing the coarse cloth over his skin until it was red and sore, prickling against the soapy water. The poor fellow's final anguished expression of pain was etched into the young man's mind. How could he have been so foolish! He never intended to pull out his sword, the man had run onto the blade when he had drawn it solely for defence. Richard had hoped the sight of the weapon would send the man scarpering into the woods; it was the last thing on his mind to be so cowardly as to wound an unarmed man. Who would ever believe him?

It was a freak occurrence, an accident, but his reputation preceded him and there was no chance that it would work in his favour. Resting his head against the back of the water tub, Richard closed his eyes against the world. All logic was fading from his mind, panic had already had its share of time, now he simply needed rest. Tomorrow was a new day and perhaps he could put things into perspective when given a little time to reflect. Richard pulled himself up and patted the water from his body before pulling on a loose nightshirt and collapsing into bed.

* * *

The night was far from restful; Richard tossed and turned, tension pulling a tight band around his temples which he couldn't shake off. He watched the grey dawn reeling in the golden sun, the shadows lengthening across the flagstone floor until he was forced up from his bed by the sounds of servants moving around in the kitchen and great hall below. He washed then pulled on his clothes, choosing a dark blue jerkin and black trousers.

Despite the attempt at making his appearance as striking and regal as possible, Richard's mood did not lighten. Examining his face in the mirror, even he had to admit that his anxiety showed through more than he would like. He pulled a few jolly faces with which to greet his family before heading downstairs for some breakfast.

He did not have to wait long before Sir Thomas and Eleanor entered, followed shortly by Cedric who was looking rather the worse for wear. His clothing was dishevelled and creased, his dark hair scruffy and unkempt, but his eyes were lively and playful. He swung his legs round onto the bench and grabbed an apple, biting into it noisily. All eyes were in his direction, and Sir Thomas was the first to ask the question on everyone's lips, "What do you have to be so happy about this morning?"

Cedric met his father's suspicious gaze, "Nothing."

Sir Thomas tipped his head slightly to the side in a questioning gesture, "Nothing? It would be too much to hope, I am sure, that it has anything to do with your anticipation at spending the day studying under the friar."

It was not a question, and Thomas was already too busy tucking into the bread in front of him to see Cedric's impish grin. Richard sat silently, feeling a touch of bitterness towards his brother for being so carefree when his own mind was plagued with ill feeling.

Eleanor scrutinized Cedric's smile for a moment before sitting back in her chair, "I know what it is. If I am not mistaken, and I feel sure I'm not, it has something to do with a certain blonde miller's daughter, recently returned from Leicestershire."

Cedric's smile did not waver, but he raised his eyebrows in mock admiration at her clever guess. "It was all perfectly honourable I assure you."

Sir Thomas pulled his knife from the butter and stared severely at his son. "Is this true, Cedric?" The silence spoke volumes, "How many times have I warned you about dallying with the village girls. I will not have illegitimate heirs popping up all over the countryside while you boys sow your wild oats! It must stop." His eyes turned to Richard at this point, a culprit worse than Cedric in such matters.

Already touchy after last night's incident, Richard caught his father's eye and flared up in anger. "Me! When was the last time I caused trouble with the girls?" Snorts of scornful laughter chorused around the table at which Richard glared at his siblings and shook his head. He stalked from the room without so much as a backward glance.

Cedric and Eleanor shared quizzical looks while Sir Thomas remained unphased by his son's characteristically fiery temper. Cedric downed some milk and headed for the door, pausing at his father's shoulder, "Don't worry father. Just think, between the two of us, you'll at least have a loyal army against Baron Mullens."

Sir Thomas gave his son another severe look; at the rate his children were going, a legion of illegitimate children was a little too close for comfort.

* * *

Richard was still smarting over his father churning up his bad behaviour again as he made his way over to the stables. He was planning a ride out towards town in the hope of clearing his mind a little and loath as he was to recall it, to check if anyone had discovered the body. However, the atmosphere amongst the villagers was far from sombre; it was business as usual. Richard decided to go for a short ride before returning to the castle and was enjoying the light breeze against his face and the relative peace of mind a country ride afforded when he saw two gentlemen approaching from the opposite direction.

He reined in his horse a little and prepared to pass the travellers on the narrow track. As the men reached him, Richard recognized one of them as Baron Arden, an old friend of the king whom he remembered being introduced to during a royal banquet. He did not live more than half a day's slow ride from Covington Cross, yet their paths barely crossed but for selling purposes. He doubted the baron would remember him and gave only a short smile as the horses passed. To his surprise, Baron Arden reined in his horse alongside Richard's, looking the young man up and down. "Richard Grey?"

A little taken aback, Richard replied, "Yes. It is an honour to meet you again, Baron Arden."

The man cast Richard a long glance, "Oh, believe me, the pleasure is mine."

Richard eyed him, suspiciously, "Well, thank you."

Preparing to move on, he found the baron's hand resting on his arm, holding him still. The older man leaned closer so that Richard could not fail to notice the dashes of grey in his blonde beard and hair. His eyes were pale blue, almost colourless, giving his face a hard, cold edge and age had carved deep lines down his face, highlighting cavernous cheekbones. "Perhaps I could entice you to a drink at the tavern."

Richard hesitated, about to refuse, but then thought better of it. If he could do anything to help his father raise himself in the estimation of those close to the king, he would.

The two men reset their tracks towards the town, led by Baron Arden's servant. For a while the discourse was light, settling on the weather, crop production and the health of their respective families. It was at this point that the conversation darkened, the baron lowering his voice so that the servant was out of earshot. "Perhaps your father would not be so proud of his son were he aware of more recent...occurrences."

Richard paused, levelling his voice before inquiring, "What do you mean?"

The baron was clearly secure in his belief that he had the upper hand and wasted no time in swooping in for the kill. "There is no need to play the innocent with me. I saw what happened last night."

He waited for the young man's response, and Richard was quick to oblige. "I have no recollection of any particularly exciting occupation last night. I resent the implications of your words, sir."

"Please, Richard. It does not become you to lie so poorly. I may be old, but my eyesight has not yet failed me. I saw you kill that man and then try to hide the body. Attacking an unarmed man, one of your own employees if I am not mistaken. What would your father say? What would the king say if he were to hear of your reckless antics once again?"

Richard pursed his lips, stifling the urge to hurl abuse at the baron. Controlling the trembling anger rising in his throat, he quietly asked, "What is your point, sir?"

"I am not a cruel man, Richard Grey, but I am known for my opportunism. Therefore, I am willing to make you a deal."

Richard responded, coldly, "And what deal would that be?"

At this point, the baron produced a small vial of dark liquid and handed it to Richard, who took it, begrudgingly. "Place one drop in a trough of water and pour over the earth surrounding your crops. Do this on a daily basis until all the crops are withered."

"Sabotage our own crops! I would never stoop so low."

"Remember, I offer this in exchange for both your own reputation and that of your father's."

"Killing our crops would lose us valuable resources and income..." Suddenly everything began to become clear. "...leaving you as the sole supplier in the area."

"A clever boy. You will make a good businessman in time." Richard grunted, shooting the man a poisonous glare. "I will play no part in this sham."

"Then you are a fool. You leave me no choice but to tell the king of your deed."

"Huh. Who would believe you? I doubt he would give much time for the death of a mere peasant worker."

Richard sputtered angrily, but the baron simply laughed. "I fear you are forgetting the catalogue of misdemeanours you have yet to wipe clean from the slate. It will not take much convincing." Then, his expression brightened, "Besides, did you not hear? That was no peasant. The man you killed was none other than Sir Pellion. You choose your opponents well, young Grey."

He stared intently at Richard, awaiting the boy's answer. The silence told him that the young man was considering his position a little more carefully now. Richard blanched, his heart lurching in his chest. Could it be true? Surely a knight would never travel in such disguise and then pick a quarrel with a fellow nobleman. It made no sense, it must be one of the baron's tricks. However, he could not afford to take any more risks. Finally, Richard spoke, "Very well. I will do as you ask...but that will be the end of it."

Baron Arden nodded, courteously, "Of course." Then, as he spurred his horse faster along the track, Richard heard him add, "I am sure there will be no shortage of faults to hold you firmly in my grasp."

He disappeared around the bend in the road before Richard had a chance to retort. Circling his horse, he galloped full pelt back to the castle, determined to try and expel some of the adrenalin and nervous energy which coursed through his body. He wasn't sure which was worse, killing a man or destroying his father's livelihood for the year. Whichever way it went, he would be letting Thomas down and both deeds were unforgivable. However, Arden's request gave him some hope that the murder would remain undetected and that some kind of bargain could be reached. At least his father would not die from Richard's actions even if it meant that he might never trust him again.

* * *

The castle was strangely quiet when Richard entered the courtyard, and, as he pulled his gloves off and stepped into the hall, he was surprised to see his brother and sister gathered around the table. Sir Thomas was standing at the head of it, his face grave and business-like. Cedric was no longer in the happy disposition he had displayed that morning and even Eleanor looked paler than usual.

Richard wet his lips, anxiously; this did not look good. "What is it? What has happened?"

Cedric looked at his brother, sympathetically, motioning to the table. Thomas's large frame towered over his children, a forbidding figure in his red doublet and dark breeches. "Perhaps that is something you could shed some light on for us."

Richard placed his gloves on the table and sat, sudddenly aware of the offending weapon sheathed against his leg. It weighed heavily against him, and he longed to unbuckle it, but feared it would only draw attention to himself further. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Thomas drew himself up to his full height, "Last night, Sir Pellion was murdered whilst travelling through our land."

Richard feigned ignorance, "Good lord! Was it robbers?" He could not avoid the somewhat suspicious stare of his father and siblings.

"No. He was disguised as a labourer."

"How awful."

Thomas cleared his throat, slowly. Richard tried to remain calm in spite of the wave of heat surging up and down the length of his body. "He was killed outside the local tavern; there were signs of a scuffle, some kind of brawl before he was run through with a sword."

"Then that narrows it down. It must have been someone of status. None of the locals carry weapons like that on a daily basis." Silence hovered over the room, and Richard knew this was far from being the end of the matter.

Finally, Cedric enquired, "What Father wants to know is whether you saw anything last night."

Richard looked from his brother to his father, slowly, "Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?" The silence told him all he needed to know, "I will have you know that I spent the whole day working on your books followed by a ride in the evening around the property. I did not even set foot in any tavern."

At this juncture, Eleanor ventured, "But you were seen there, Richard."

Getting increasingly flustered, Richard sensed that if he stayed any longer, everything would be revealed. He had to control the panic and steady his breathing or they would detect something immediately. "Well, all right. I admit I went for a short time to quench my thirst. But I swear I saw nothing out of the ordinary, and then I came directly home."

Thomas looked intently at his son, "How much did you have to drink last night?"

At the accusation, Richard flew into a rage. "You think I did this!? You think I murdered Sir Pellion? Well, thank you all for your support. I am glad that I have my family's full trust when I need it."

Eleanor began, "We didn't mean..."

Without waiting to hear her, Richard marched from the room, slamming the door firmly behind him. Cedric bit his lip, anxiously, and looked across at Eleanor. "Do you really think Richard could have done such a thing?"

Thomas sank back into the chair, "Never intentionally, but...the man was disguised, and the sword..."

"And no one could deny that Richard is fiery-tempered at the best of times." Cedric nodded, glumly. He liked to think that his brother's rash behaviour was nothing more than juvenile competition and the odd brawl. Murder was the last thing he thought Richard capable of, but now...he had lied about being in the tavern. Even he had to admit that the whole incident was a little too suspicious to let pass without broaching the subject with his brother.

* * *

That evening Richard claimed a headache and barely stayed at the dining table for more than five minutes before retiring to his chambers. It had been excruciating sitting amongst his family while they attempted to sound casual and friendly. It would take a little more than a smile to gloss over the fact that his own father had accused him of murder, regardless of how much truth there might have been to his allegations. It was not the deed itself which galled Richard the most, because he could not deny what had happened, it was the fact that Thomas did not know it had been a freak accident, he genuinely thought his son capable of cold-blooded murder.

Mulling this over while he tore the crust off his bread, Richard found it increasingly difficult to conceal his anger, until leaving was the only option left to him. Stepping outside the dining hall, he leaned against the wall, listening to the mumbled conversation which had begun inside, no doubt pertaining to him. Cursing under his breath, he made his way up the staircase and slammed his chamber doors behind him.

Richard wanted nothing more than to ride away from Covington Cross and never return, but he was loath to give his family further cause for suspicion and even he had to admit that going out would most likely cause more trouble. Besides, he would have to rise early the next day if he was to carry out Baron Arden's instructions. Kicking his boots off, Richard turned on his side, flinging one arm over his eyes to block out the candlelight. Before long he was asleep, tossing fitfully.

* * *

The next morning, Richard rose early, dressing quickly and slipping out to the furthest field from the castle where he began his despicable task, his mind swinging between knowing he should stop and imagining what would happen if he did not. He laboriously poured the putrid liquid around the base of the crops, gagging at the smell. Fortunately, it soon subsided, otherwise the farmers would realize something was amiss. Mounting his horse, Richard headed into the woods, hoping to find his way back home without meeting anyone along the way. In this way, a week passed. The crops grew steadily worse without visible reason, tension mounted within the castle and Richard kept to himself, barely speaking to anyone and only coldly acknowledging the existence of his own family.

It was on the eighth evening, late at night, that Richard finally met his match. Having suffered yet another miserable dinner, he had prepared to set out to the fields again, only this time he was not alone. Cedric had been watching his brother's behaviour carefully, trying to find some logic to his mood changes. No one dared broach the subject of the murder again with him for fear or sending him over the edge, but curiosity abounded and Cedric knew that he was the only one capable of getting any information from his brother. He was studying late in his own chambers, reading the adventures of Odysseus with Scylla and Charybdis for the thousandth time when he heard the creaking of his brother's door down the corridor. This was followed shortly by footsteps tiptoeing past his own door and down the stairs

Cedric knew how restless Richard must be with all these unresolved anxieties hanging over his head, without even his own family's trust. Unable to sleep himself, he decided to follow his brother, talk to him properly as no one else had managed to do. There was something about the cover of darkness which lent itself to the telling of secrets; it was like entering another dimension where things could be said which cannot be revealed during daylight hours.

He waited for Richard to saddle his horse and leave the castle before finding his own mare and following suit. Cedric was surprised at the path his brother chose, and stayed far back so as to go undetected. Eventually, Richard dismounted and tied his horse to the post beside one of the large troughs. There, he produced a small vial of liquid and began sprinkling it in the water.

From the shelter of the bushes, Cedric stared in disbelief as his brother began watering the crops, lifting his head sharply at intervals to check that no one had seen him. After a moment or two, Cedric tied his own horse to a tree branch and paused at the trough which Richard returned to at intervals. At first, he did not notice Cedric, bent double over the stems, but jumped with shock when he realized that someone was standing there. "Cedric! What the hell are you doing out here?"

His voice was angry and irritable, clearly hoping to make the boy back off rather than ask more questions, but Cedric was unphased. "I could ask the same thing of you, but I think I already know the answer."

Richard dropped the bucket beside the trough and raked a hand through his hair. "I simply needed to get out of the castle."

"And thought you would help the farmers at the same time. You will have to do better than that, Richard."

"Go home, Cedric. You don't know anything."

"I know that you are sabotaging the crops for no apparent reason. Did Father really hurt your ego so much that you would wreck his chances at market."

Richard frowned and shook his head, fervently. "Oh, do you really think I would be so petty?"

Cedric drew closer, and laid a hand on Richard's stallion, "Then what?" Richard stared at his brother, clearly trying to determine whether he could trust him to keep his secret. As if reading his mind, Cedric saved him the effort. "You did kill that man, didn't you? Somehow this all has something to do with it. God, Richard! How could you have been so foolish!? You never draw your sword in fights like that, why now?"

Gritting his teeth, Richard spat, "Yes, indeed. Why would I do that now when I have never done it before?"

"Then what happened?"

Richard paused for a moment, kicking the dirt distractedly with his foot. "It was an accident. He fell on my sword, I only unsheathed it to scare him off but he came up from behind."

Cedric's gaze did not waver and he stood silently for a moment before saying, "Is that the truth? Can you swear it?"

Suddenly aware that Cedric really did believe him, Richard's voice took on a more pleading tone, "On my life."

Cedric nodded in acceptance, "Then what are you doing here?"

Sighing, Richard related the incident with Baron Arden, all the while Cedric listened attentively, without question or judgement until Richard had finished. Finally, he said firmly, "Then it must stop now. What happened was an accident and Arden cannot make you suffer for it. You must tell all this to Father."

Richard's eyes widened in shock. "No! I have to do as Arden says, regardless of how much I dislike it. Father would never believe it was unintentional. You saw how he reacted when he heard of the murder, there is no point in injuring him further."

"How can you be so stupid, Richard! Surely you don't really believe that once you have destroyed the crops, Arden will forget all this! He will contine to hold it against you and the more you try to hide it the more guilty you will seem!"

"Don't you think I have already thought of all that!? I have run through it a thousand times, but...I can't humiliate Father. Within a few months, there will be nothing left of the body to identify and Arden can say anything he likes, the proof will be dust."

Cedric stared at his brother, defiantly, then turned away to his own horse, saying, "Either you tell Father, or I will." Sparing a final glance back at Richard's face, ghostly pale in the moonlight, he spurred his horse back across the fields to the castle.

Richard kicked the dirt in fury. He knew Cedric was right, but stubborness and fear had already set in, and he knew it was too late to turn back now. Finishing the job as quickly as possible, he followed his brother back home, longing for the comfort of his bed.

* * *

Richard was awoken early the next morning by one of the servants, saying that a merchant and friend were waiting outside. According to the boy, Richard was supposed to have met them an hour ago. Knowing full well that no such appointment had been made, he made the assumption that it must have something to do with Baron Arden, so he dressed quickly and made his way to where two men were waiting in the courtyard. Richard did not recognize either of them, but their shifty appearance and severe expressions told him that they could only be emissaries of the baron. He forced a sarcastic smile to his lips, "Yes?"

The elder man, no more than three and thirty with a forgettable face, brown hair and gentle eyes said in an surprisingly commanding voice, "The baron would like to speak to you. He is waiting a few miles away, if you would be so kind as to accompany us."

Richard eyed the two men, suspiciously. As far as he was concerned, he had carried out the baron's instructions and there was nothing more to be said. Conversing with Baron Arden would only lead to argument or embroiling himself in yet another devious plan. However, Richard reminded himself that he could always refuse any further offers, denying the baron at this stage could only cause more trouble. "Give me a moment to have my horse saddled." The man nodded.

Baron Arden had situated himself on an unused track in the woods, well away from the hub of activity across the nearby farm. Wedged between the two men as they approached the formidable man, Richard suddenly felt quite outnumbered and regretted not having his sword with him, in spite of its frequent hindrances. "Baron Arden."

"Richard. I see that you have been carrying out my instructions well. You have acted wisely."

Richard scoffed, "Is that why you brought me here? To congratulate me on complying with your plan."

"Far from it. One of my men tells me you had a...helper last night."

Richard's eyes widened in shock, "You have been spying on me?!"

The baron remained unphased. "A precautionary measure, I am sure you understand." He paused awaiting an explanation which never came. "Who was he?"

Richard clenched his jaw, debating whether to enlighten the man or not. Finally, he offered, "It was my brother, Cedric. He followed me. I didn't know until it was too late."

The baron shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, "So he knows everything...about the murder."

Richard couldn't help but wonder why the baron should be so nervous, unless there was some flaw in his plan which Richard had not thought of. "Yes. I told him the truth, if that is what you mean."

"For your sake, I hope it will not hinder your work."

"I was under the impression it was finished."

"You surprise me, young Grey. I thought you of all people would want this to remain anonymous."

"I do, but...Cedric is an innocent. He will not be any trouble."

The baron nodded, "Good." Richard waited for something more, but Baron Arden merely stared at him, before waving one hand nonchalantly in the air in a gesture of dismissal. "You may go."

Richard started at the uncivil and demeaning way in which he was treated, especially considering it was his own land. He bowed his head in mock respect, "Thank you..." then muttered under his breath as he turned, "...you arrogant pig."

* * *

The following evening, dinner was silent apart from the deafening sound of clattering cutlery and the servants bustling in the kitchen. After a few moments, Thomas placed his goblet ceremoniously on the table, prompting his children to look at him with surprise. He glanced around the table, surveying each face before him. "I think the time has come to resolve this." Gesturing to Richard, he said, "Richard, I am sorry if I doubted you. It was wrong of me to think you capable of such a crime. I have seen the error of my ways and am willing to admit them. I do not want this to divide our family."

Richard brushed stray crumbs from the table top, catching Cedric's warning look. He felt heat rise to his face, knowing he would have to lie to his own father. Forcing a smile to his lips, he avoided Cedric's gaze and turned to Thomas, "It is forgotten."

Thomas smiled, gratefully, sitting down again. "Well, thank God for that. Back to normality." At this, Cedric grunted, staring intently at the food before him. All eyes turned to him and his father ventured, "Is there something you would like to share with us, Cedric?"

Shooting his brother a poisonous look, Cedric grimaced and shook his head, weakly. "No. Nothing." His gaze never left Richard, who had never realized how ashamed he would be to look his brother in the eyes. Hiding this secret had been the worse experience he could remember; in the past, he had never been compromised like this. The burden had been his alone, but now it was shared and left Richard with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

Downing his wine, he endured the uncomfortable meal and listened to his father droning on about events at court and the price of wool. He had never been so relieved to be able to slip up to his chambers without causing a scene. As he settled in front of the fireplace, all he could see was Cedric's accusing face, venom he never thought his little brother capable of. Richard closed his eyes and rubbed them slowly with the back of his hand until spots of colour danced before them in the darkness. His head ached from the constant stress of keeping this from everyone, and now the fear of what Cedric might do if he was not quick to act.

* * *

Cedric leafed through Virgil's Eclogues, trying to focus on the inane words in front of him, but he could not dispel the stressful energy he felt churning around inside, coursing through his blood. It made him want to jump up and fight someone, kick something or just scream. He just couldn't stand the feeling of slow motion surrounding him, as if everyone else were walking in a daze while he was the only one with heightened awareness, dying to shout his secret out to the world. How could Richard just lie about this? It was madness to collude with Arden and expect it to end as soon as the harvest was over. He was simply playing into the man's hands and allowing himself to become a pawn, even worse, a guilty pawn.

Slamming the large, dusty volume shut, Cedric picked up the poker and jabbed at the dying embers in the hearth, impaling the shards of wood as though they were foes to be slaughtered. Having sufficiently mutilated the kindling, he sat back in the chair, and closed his eyes. Sleep was always the best remedy and he would need all the rest he could get if he was going to face Father the next day.

However, he was never given that chance. Just before the break of dawn, when the castle lay as silent as the grave and before even the servants had awoken, two men scaled the walls and managed to slip undetected into the castle grounds. Making their way along the corridors, the men chose their target carefully, not even waking the restless Richard who had lain awake half the night, only succumbing to sleep a short while ago.

The intruders opened the door to Cedric's room, silently crossing the room to where he was slumped in the armchair. Cedric stirred slightly opening his eyes and trying to orient on what was going. Before he had a chance to react, the taller man grabbed the poker from the fireplace and delivered the boy a harsh blow to the head. Just as quietly as they had entered, so they left, carrying the inert body between them.

The dank smell of wood rot and damp was the first thing Cedric could smell when he swam back into consciousness some hours after the attack. He was lying on a cold, stone floor which had little to recommend it except that it was fairly clean. Propping himself gingerly up on one elbow, he touched the offending spot of blinding pain which was spreading across the back of his head. His fingers came away sticky with congealing blood, and he grimaced, wiping the crimson stain on his trousers.

Cedric winced in pain, closing his eyes against the spots dancing before them when he tried to get to his feet. His ears were ringing wildly, as if thousands of people were running their fingers around the tops of wine goblets, and he managed to stagger to a pallet against the wall before his legs gave way under him. Reorienting his vision, Cedric surveyed his new abode, glancing from the iron bars in the window to the shackles against the opposite wall, he realised that this was certainly no prank. Dimly aware of the throbbing in his skull, he was certain none of this had been even remotely friendly. Whoever had abducted him meant business and was not going to play by the rules of any game he knew. Slowly easing himself back onto the narrow, straw mattress, Cedric tried to imagine himself back at Covington Cross in front of a warm fire and waited anxiously for what might happen next.

* * *

The morning at Covington Cross was fairly uneventful; the servants were used to the boys' late night philandering and it was not unusual for them to steal back home in the early hours of the morning. While Cedric's absence was noticed, it was not a matter of much concern amongst the household. Thomas rarely knew what his children did by day when they were out of his sight and simply went about his business oblivious of the mischief which frequently went on under his very nose. Eleanor rose fairly early for target practice, while Richard slept as late as he could, before the noises of hard labour were too much to ignore and he made a belated entry to breakfast.

To everyone else, it was just another rest after too much philandering the previous night. Little did they know the torment he had been going through which kept him awake night after night without respite. Guilt had racked him worse than ever over the last few hours, aware of how deeply he had embroiled his younger brother in this ugly affair. Despite the relief of not having to face Cedric, Richard had hoped to find him at breakfast. There was no point in hiding from this, it had to be dealt with in the open. If Richard really was right about his decision to co operate with Baron Arden it could not be too hard to convince Cedric of the same.

After pushing some porridge around the plate for a while, Richard headed to the friar's study. The large monk was seated at the table, poring over an old Latin text, his face displaying his irritation at his errant pupil's lack of attention and motivation. "Good morning, Friar."

The friar looked at Richard, forcing a courteous smile to his lips. "Ah, Richard. Perhaps you might tell young master Cedric that hiding from me will not help him become a cleric or a knight."

"I was actually looking for him myself, but I will be sure to pass on the message." Closing the door quickly, Richard frowned. He knew Cedric was prone to missing study sessions with the friar, but there was usually some indication of his plans for the day and they usually involved hiding behind Richard for a while!

Frowning, Richard made his way to his father's chambers, knocking on the door, tentatively. The booming voice granted entrance, "Ah, Richard! Just the person I wanted to see. Did you finish these figures for me?"

Orientating himself on the subject at hand, Richard nodded distractedly, "Uh, yes. Why? Is there something wrong with them?"

Thomas pulled a slightly surprised face, "Well, the figures are somewhat low, surprisingly so after last year's crop production."

"Oh, well...yes, there seems to have been some trouble with a strange disease in the corn. The produce levels have remained low because of it."

"Disease?! Why didn't you mention this from the beginning?" Richard felt the heat rise to his face, prickling up his neck and cheeks, "I was so busy, it slipped my mind."

"Slipped your mind! This is our livelihood and it...slipped your mind! Do you have any idea how this will affect our commerce value in the coming year?!"

"I am sorry, father. I thought I had it under control. There is very little to be done. I gave money to the farmers to buy poisons to kill this thing, but it has done no good. Other crops in the area have been suffering, too. We will fare no worse than them, I am certain of it."

Thomas glanced at the figures in the ledger once more then slammed it shut. "I do not ask that you perform many duties on my behalf, Richard. Many fathers make greater demands of a second son, acting first son, but...sometimes I wonder if you even think about the repercussions of what you do." Richard's glowering anger quelled at his father's words and, suddenly aware of the truth behind them, he bowed his head, guiltily. "In future, I would be grateful if you would inform me of anything out of the ordinary...regardless of how trivial it might seem to you." Thomas's eyes were wide and challenging, "Do I make myself clear?"

Richard mustered all his strength to reply, meekly, "Yes, father."

Unused to such a humble response when accused of incompetence, Thomas was momentarily stumped. Finally, he managed, "Well, what did you want, Richard?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just looking for Cedric."

Seating himself behind his desk, Thomas leafed through some papers, "I have not seen him all morning. Try the friar."

Richard nodded, somberly, "Yes." Then, as he reached the door, "I am sorry, father. It was negligent of me not to tell you."

Thomas looked at his son, his youthful curls framing his pale face and bright eyes, and softened. "Just be more careful in future, Richard. That is all I ask."

Nodding, Richard closed the door and leaned against the heavy oak. His world was crumbling down around his ears, yet no one could hear how loud he was screaming. The one person he had left to confide in had disappeared.

* * *

The day passed; Richard searched the property for his brother, in between beating himself up over his stupidity and rash behaviour. Dinner approached and Cedric's absence became achingly clear, and nonchalant dismissal turned to anxiousness. Eleanor had also been on the look out for him since lunch, claiming that they had agreed to go for a ride together. Dinner commenced as they discussed the possible places he might have gone. It was while his sister and father ran off all the possible locations that Richard suddenly understood what had happened. In his own turmoil, he had completely forgotten his last conversation with Arden, how suspicious he had been of Cedric and a possible traitor in his plan. He could see the baron's almost frightened expression as he had dismissed Richard.

Dropping the leg of chicken he had been gnawing on, Richard's heart lurched at the horrific prospect of what had happened. Standing up, he steadied himself with his hands on the edge of the table. "I think I know where he is."

Eleanor and Sir Thomas looked at him in shock. His sister's eyes were wide with fright, "Richard! What's the matter? You are quite pale."

Sensing the danger in his face, Thomas snapped, "Richard."

Humiliation and self-loathing raged inside him as he forced the words out. "I think he has been taken away by force."

Eleanor gasped, "My God! But why?" Swallowing down a parched throat and all his pride, Richard sat back at the table. His eyes tracing from one family member to the other, he began to explain everything, from the incident at the tavern to the proceedings of the previous night. Thomas and Eleanor listened intently, never interrupting. When he had finished, Richard could barely meet his father's face, but when he did, he was met only with coldness. Eleanor's expression was blank and unreadable.

Finally, Thomas said. "Then we must find him. This baron cannot be too hard to find. I will torture Cedric's whereabouts out of him if that is what it takes." Standing up, he headed for the door. "Saddle the horses, I will be there presently." Richard glanced quickly at his sister and then disappeared through the door.

* * *

Cedric might have been rudely awakened by the loud scraping of the heavy iron door which separated him from the rest of the world, but, since he had not slept a wink , it was somewhat relieving to finally find a situation where he could work out what was going on. The man who appeared in the doorway was a finely cut figure, clearly of nobility, but Cedric did not recognize him. The man stepped forward into the slim sliver of light which shafted through the window and stared down at the youthful boy leaning casually back on the pallet. "I am happy to see that you have made yourself comfortable. I regret that this could not have been more amicable."

Cedric swung his legs off the bed, "Amicable! Now there's a word I wasn't expecting to run into on this visit."

The baron took off his gloves, ceremoniously, "Oh, believe me, this meeting could be of benefit to both of us. However, at present, it serves me alone. I hope we can change that."

Cedric eyed the man, suspiciously. "Well, Baron.. Arden, is it? I can tell you now that your wily schemes are of no interest to me, so you know where you can stick it."

The malice of his words halted the baron, a thin smile playing across his lips. "Clearly rashness runs in the family."

"Well, it is better than cowardice, wouldn't you agree, Baron?"

The subtext of his words were not lost on Arden. "It is not wise to make me angry, but then given your involvement in all this, you have not shown prudence so far. Perhaps it would be too much to expect at this late stage." Cedric gritted his teeth, no longer in the mood for vicious banter. "However, I am not a naturally cruel man, so I will give you two options. Richard seems to think that you are perfectly harmless, but I doubt that. I think that you could do significant damage to my plans..."

"Thank you."

"...So I think it would be wise for you to help your brother. Two pairs of hands are always better than one."

Cedric's usually playful smile began to twist into a sneer, and his green eyes pierced the baron. Quietly, he said, "Given the option, I always go for rashness before cowardice."

The baron smiled, coldly. "Hmm. I would take more care before you answer. If you do not co operate, you leave me no option but to make sure you disappear from the picture...and remain firmly there." Cedric's gaze wavered, momentarily and Baron Arden was convinced he saw a flicker of regret in the young man's eyes. "Guards!" Two burly men entered, a lance in one hand. "Take him below. I have finished with him." They grabbed the boy's arms and shoved him out of the door and towards a narrow staircase lit by dim torches at intervals, dwindling into the distance.

* * *

Richard and Thomas galloped at full pelt towards the town, determined to find some sign of where the baron might have gone. Fortunately, as soon as they entered one of the local taverns, Richard recognized one of Arden's men who had accompanied him into the woods. Richard enticed him outside under the pretence of having a problem with the crop poison. The man fell for it and as soon as he rounded the corner of the hut to where the horses were tethered, Thomas placed the blade of his sword to the man's neck. "Tell us where Arden is!"

The man raised his hands in surrender, "I...I don't know! He doesn't tell us anything, we always meet him here."

Richard punched the man in the stomach, causing him to double over, almost slitting his throat on the sharp blade. "No, it is the truth! He told me a messenger would be sent to meet me here at the tavern."

The two men exchanged glances over the crumpled man's bent body. Without saying a word, Thomas delivered a hefty blow to the back of the man's head and they pulled him into the bushes. "He'll be out for a while. We have enough time."

Richard nodded, "I'll go inside and wait for this messenger. No one will recognise me."

Thomas nodded, "I will follow you. Let's just hope he takes us to Cedric."

Richard slipped inside the tavern, shielding himself in the shadows from anyone who might recognise him.

Within moments, a grim looking man with shifty eyes entered. He glanced suspiciously around the room and when his gaze settled on Richard, he cautiously approached the table, whispering, "Are you Arden's man?" Marvelling at the man's lack of discretion, Richard momentarily baulked, then nodded. "Come with me, then."

Hastening to his horse, Richard mounted and followed the man, taking note of his father's horse out of the corner of his eye. As soon as they had left the village, the man spurred his horse to a gallop, following a twisting and narrow track which was unfamiliar to Richard. He hoped that Thomas would be able to keep up with all the changes in direction, glancing momentarily back to check his father's progress. They rode for hours until they finally reached a small stone house, clearly some kind of dilapidated farmhouse. Dismounting, the man motioned for Richard to follow him inside. As casually as he could, Richard kicked a large stone into the doorway, wedging it open ever so slightly.

* * *

Meanwhile, Cedric found himself seated in a plush chair with a high back and firm horsehair cushioning. He was a little alarmed at the sudden comfort which was being provided. The room itself was windowless with torches flickering shadows across the walls, forming grotesque caricatures against the stonework. A desk in front of him alerted Cedric to the fact that this was no cell, more like an interview room. A moment or two later, a tall, bald-headed man entered and seated himself behind the desk, motioning two guards to move forwards.

"Your...disposal has been left in my...more experienced hands." His mouth curled grotesquely around the words, contorting his face into a look of sheer savagery.

Cedric had heard stories of interrogations and tortures, the intimidation which went with them, but he was determined not to panic. Holding the man's gaze, he felt beads of sweat prickling across his top lip and the slicing shiver which spiked down his back. "What is the point of torturing me? I have nothing that you want and there is no deal you can make which will guarantee you security."

The man smiled, showing rotted yellow teeth between gaping black gaps of gum. "No. That is true. Your death is the only security offered to us. Of course, we can try to extract pertinent details relating to your estates. Times and places of transactions - that sort of thing, just something to ensure we gain something from all this, a nest egg, you might say. "

Cedric hissed through gritted teeth, "I would lie."

"Men always say such things until the screws are tightened." The man laughed heartily at the crude poetics of his words, then signalled to the two men. They secured Cedric's wrists firmly to the arms of the chair with iron cuffs. Cedric realised struggle was ineffectual and calmly submitted himself to their hands. The cold metal allowed no movement and he shifted uncomfortably against the crushing pain which shot up his arms as padlocks sealed his fate. Bracing himself against what was to come, Cedric tried hard to form an image in his mind of better times, of reasons not to give in to the villain's wishes and bit his lip against the screams rising in his throat.

* * *

Richard's heart pounded in his chest, his eyes alert, hoping to catch a glimpse of his brother's raven hair through a cell window, but every time he was disappointed. He did not know what to expect and was half fearful that he would be too late to save Cedric's life. Gritting his teeth in determination, he ducked under the low beams as he followed the man down a narrow corridor. It was obvious that they were descending deeper and deeper underground, the heat forcing beads of sweat to stand out across Richard's forehead, and the sounds became increasingly thick and close until their footsteps barely made a sound on the clay floor.

Finally, the man stopped in front of a low door and knocked firmly. A muffled voice acknowledged him and he motioned to Richard with his head to enter. Putting on his most gracious smile, the young man stepped inside, but his face fell when he realized that, instead of finding his brother, he was confronted with the icy grin of Baron Arden seated in a chair, his legs propped up on the gnarled oak table before him. He seemed momentarily unbalanced by seeing Richard Grey but soon checked himself and signalled his guards to leave them, shutting the door firmly behind them. He raised his eyebrows, "Well, this is a...pleasant but unexpected surprise. I trust everything is going well."

"Everything is going, Baron. Including my brother, it would seem."

Arden calmly pressed the tips of his fingers together, concentrating hard on the man before him, as if afraid that he might try something if he looked away for a moment. "Ahhh, I feared this might come between us."

"The only thing coming between us is your entrails on the blade of my sword." Richard cast a darting glance at the floor, its rich tapestried rug. "I'll try not to stain the rug." He lunged towards the baron, who started from his chair, toppling it in his hurry. Richard caught the man squarely on the ear, severing the lobe cleanly. The baron gasped in pain and clasped one hand over the wound, blood running freely around his fingers and staining the sleeve of his white shirt. "Tell me where Cedric is and I might be merciful."

Arden drew a sharp breath through yellowing teeth. "Guards!"

Before the men had a chance to open the door, Richard had leapt over the table, his sword levelled over the man's neck. "Come any closer and you will suffer a traitor's death." The guards backed away, dropping their weapons and raising their mailed hands in surrender. Richard ran his tongue over dry lips, then motioned to the door, "Fetch my brother." The men stood dumbly in the doorway, glancing at Baron Arden for further instructions. Richard's patience was wearing thin, "Do it or he dies!"

Jumping to attention, the men disappeared down the corridor. Richard breathed in a ragged breath, then slowly released his iron grip on the baron's arm, flinging him back into the chair. "I'll deal with you later." Swinging his sword into the air, he caught it roughly by the blade and dealt the baron a sharp blow to the head with the other end.

* * *

The first thing Cedric felt when he came swimming back to consciousness was rough hands pulling the iron cuffs away from his wrists followed by the pounding pain in his head; it was like nothing he had ever experienced before. There was nothing beyond the black hole of agony which rotated in his skull like a windmill in a hurricane, he could concentrate on nothing but the surges and ebbs of nausea and spikes of white pain which stabbed through his brain like a thousand knives. Surely this would kill him - nobody could survive such agony.

Cedric opened his eyes, but still the spots of white light danced before his eyes and he could only gaze deeper into the black hole of hell, a grotesque reflection of his own suffering. Disorientated, he had no idea whether his eyes were open or closed. Weakly, he raised one hand to his face, attempting to rub his eyes into focus. As soon as he touched the bloody pulp of his face, he cried out in agony, his voice barely a hoarse whisper, straining through his parched throat. The chainmailed hands of a guard grabbed Cedric's wrists and pulled him crudely to his feet, his legs immediately buckling under him, but the firm hands held him up. Shifting in the blackness which impeded him, Cedric was roughly manoeuvered through a doorway and back down the passage he could dimly recall from before. How long he had been tortured, he had no idea. He could barely keep from blacking out as he was jostled down the hall, let alone think back to everything that had happened since Covington Cross.

Whatever had happened did not matter now, and over the roar of chaos and splitting pain which seared through his brain like a red hot poker, the only thought which manifested itself was the certain knowledge that wherever he was being taken would be his death. Cedric did not know what he did or how he did it, but with one final surge of energy, he managed to pull himself free from the firm grasp of his captor, dealing him a hefty blow which felled him.

Staggering along the corridor, Cedric felt his way along the passage, convinced that his efforts were in vain and would be the death of him. Despite the overriding urge to sink to the floor and rest for eternity, he managed to hurry along. Somehow the movement duped him into thinking that he could run away from the pain and blindness in his head. Finally, a cold draught signalled that he had reached an external door. With a heaving sigh of relief, Cedric fumbled for the latch and it swung open. He staggered outside and headed for the trees, unknowing of which direction he was taking or where it might lead.

Richard found the guard slumped against the damp corridor wall and shook him fiercely, slapping his cheek as hard as his gloved hand would allow. The guard moaned groggily and before Richard had a chance to hit him again footsteps resounded in the passage and Sir Thomas appeared beside his son. "Richard! Have you found Cedric?"

Richard shook his head, "This fool was supposed to fetch him." The guard opened his eyes and groaned again. "Where is my brother?"

"I had him...I don't know what happened. It was so quick, he just caught me unawares." Richard and Thomas exchanged anxious glances, "He must have escaped. If he got out of the building he cannot have gone far. We will soon catch up with him."

Thomas nodded, "He wouldn't be foolish enough to try anything alone. He will go directly to the castle and wait for us."

Richard released the guard's tunic from his vice-like grip, "Guard Arden with your life. If he escapes you will hang like the worthless piece of scum that you are! Do you hear me?!"

The guard was not a fool and was in no hurry to lose his head. No money was worth hanging for. He nodded quickly then thought perhaps he should raise himself in his new employer's estimation. "Yes, yes, but..." His voice trailed off, but Thomas's dagger soon reminded him. "It's your brother. He was in a bad way. I don't know how far he'll have got alone."

Looking at his father's weary face, Richard pulled the dishevelled guard to his feet. "Guard Arden until the constables arrive."

Marching down the corridor, Thomas followed Richard towards the nearest exit. "How can we be sure he went this way? There must be a thousand ways out of this catacomb!"

Richard's eyes were wild and bright with the adrenalin coursing through his body, and he pursed his lips against the negative words which desperately wanted to spill out. Then, pressing down the latch, Richard pulled his hand away and saw blood on his fingertips. Raising crimson fingers to his father, he said, quietly, "I think we can safely say we are on his trail."

* * *

Night had descended like a thick fog over the whole county but it made no difference to the figure stumbling through the undergrowth, his hands outstretched before him, trying to feel his way towards anything resembling civilization. Weak with fatigue, hunger and pain, Cedric was flagging and as his foot caught a rock and he went sprawling to the forest floor, it was all he could do to muster the strength to pull himself to his knees. He leaned back against a fallen tree stump, trying to catch his breath, feeling the swelling throbbing in his temples beating like a drum through his brain. Certain he could go no further, Cedric knew that he was doomed. If Arden wanted him dead, there was little in his favour and, without his sight, what could he do to help himself? Before long, his head fell to his chest and exhaustion took its hold.

Richard and Thomas had been scanning the woods for hours before they found any signs of being on the right track. Thomas had found another smear of blood on a tree trunk about half a mile into the dense woodland which covered the land all around the area. Richard glanced anxiously up at the sky as a heavy gust of wind blew through the branches, the wood creaking and waving against the battering. He looked at his father's weary face, suddenly aware of how much ground they had covered since they left Covington Cross. All this action and worry was taking its toll on the older man. Venturing closer, Richard placed a comforting hand on his Thomas' shoulder, "Father, one of us should return to town and find the constables. God knows how long Arden's guards will stay there before they make a run for it. If we split up there is more chance of catching our man and finding Cedric."

Thomas nodded, "I'll go. I can look out for Cedric as I go. If there is no sign of you by daybreak I will return to find you."

Richard nodded, secretly relieved that his father had not protested. It was hard enough just to keep his own morale up without having to worry about Thomas' strength as well. He watched his father mount his horse and follow the scuffed path which had led them into the dense wood. Quickly spurring his horse on, Richard continued on the road ahead, straining his eyes in the darkness, hoping to catch a glimpse of his younger brother. He did not have to wait long; Cedric's weakened state and blindness had prevented him from going very far. Richard almost missed the crumpled form, half hidden behind the fallen log.

Jumping from his horse, he ran to his brother. "Cedric! Ced..."His words tailed away when he saw the boy's face, almost unrecognizable beneath a bevy of bruises and swelling. "My God." Richard whispered, touching a hand tentatively to the burning flesh. "Cedric, wake up. Can you hear me?"

The boy groaned, feebly, barely able to form sound from his parched throat. Richard anxiously unlaced his brother's doublet in fear that there might be further damage to the rest of his body, but most damage seemed to have been to his head. As he looked fearfully at the injured form, running a hand tentatively across his blood-caked cheek, Cedric's eyes opened. His irises were bright and watery beneath swollen lids. They wandered blankly over Richard and the surrounding undergrowth, and his elder brother tried to reassure him, "I'm going to take you out of here, little brother. Just stay with me."

For a moment, he was certain Cedric tried to speak, but in a moment, he slipped into unconsciousness. Richard glanced unsteadily around the woods, then pulled his brother forwards by his arms, then lifting him over his own shoulder. He lay the limp body over his horse, then pulled himself up behind. Arranging Cedric in a cradle position in his arms, Richard turned the steed and picked his way back out of the forest the way he had come.

As soon as he hit the open road, Richard set his horse into a gallop, racing as fast as the animal's legs would carry him back to Covington Cross.

The stone edifice which he recognised as home peeped over the distant treetops and the horse's pace picked up as it realised where it was heading. Cedric had not stirred since they had left the woods, and Richard's concern had grown with each minute. Little did he know that the boy had simply succumbed to the peaceful security of being cared for; he had felt himself lifted onto the horse and, swimming in and out of consciousness, had been dimly aware of the journey - the occasional spots of rain which cooled his hands and face. He could feel his brother's strong grip across his back and the steady pace of the horse beneath him, wheezing in exertion.Finally, the clutches of darkness pulled him into oblivion and he could feel nothing. No doubt this was a blessing because Richard was somewhat rough in his hurry to get Cedric back to his own bed.

Carrying him up to his chambers was a feat in itself, Richard manouevering himself carefully round the winding stone staircase and kicking his brother's door open with one foot. Eleanor and Thomas were quick to arrive on the scene, the girl gasping when she saw the bloody pulp which barely resembled the brother she had seen hours before.

Thomas caught his breath, sharply and turned to Eleanor, "Go and fetch some warm water and a cloth." She stood dumbly for a moment, her gaze trailing along Cedric's diminshed form before her father's voice brought her to herself, "Eleanor - quickly."

Richard pulled off his brother's boots and unlaced the front of his tunic, while Thomas tugged at the bed covers, "I checked him over for other wounds, but the worst damage seems to have been to his head."

"We will have to make cold compresses to assist with the swelling."

Richard looked anxiously at his father, eyes wide with worry. "Then what?"

Thomas's gaze swerved back to his young son, "Then we wait."

Richard was afraid of that verdict; he had never been very patient when it came to crisis. He wished there was someone he could pummel for all of this, somewhere to place the blame. Arden had already been arrested, and, as Richard's thoughts wandered, wherever he turned, the guilt lay on his own head. If he had never let himself become entangled in such a sordid plan on account of a simple accident, Cedric would never be lying there with God knows what injuries.

Sinking dejectedly into a chair drawn up beside the bed, he let his head fall into his hands, occasionally letting his gaze linger on his brother's still form. His head burned with the knowledge of what he had done. Nothing could keep it from his mind, like some disease spreading through his body, affecting every limb until he was incapable of doing anything but thinking on his foolish crime. In this way, Richard passed the rest of the night, occasionally drifting into sleep only to wake with a start, forgetting where he was and what had happened and momentarily bewildered by what was happening.

* * *

At dawn, Cedric awoke. He felt the heavy quilt beneath his fingers and realized that he must be home. Slowly, he began to recall everything that had taken place since the argument with Richard that night. His face ached and throbbing in his skull made it almost impossible to think of anything but the pain, but Cedric forced himself to open his eyes, a difficult task in itself considering the swelling. It made no difference, blackness surrounded him, spotted with dots of white light which danced across his field of vision like so many fireflies.

Moving his head gingerly to the side, Cedric could make out the familiar angle of the window, creating a patch of grey which permeated the blackness which had reigned for so long. Even this slight alteration in colour sent new aches coursing through his head, and he shifted himself out of the sunlight. This simple action was yet another source of pain and Cedric drew his breath in sharply.

Richard had been dozing in the chair and started suddenly when he heard movement. "Cedric?"

Sensing his brother's proximity to the bed and then the weight of Richard leaning over him, prompted Cedric to try and contain the truth of how much his head hurt. "I'm fine. I just moved a little fast."

He heard a sigh, then, "Are you all right?"

Cedric closed his eyes, determined that Richard should not see his unfocused vision, unable to train his eyes to where he knew his brother stood. "Do I look all right?" He immediately regretted his hasty words; in spite of the pain, Cedric could well remember the things he had said to Richard and the guilt he must be experiencing now. Whatever stubborn and foolish acts his brother might be prone to involving himself in, he would never allow it to affect those he loved. Whichever way one looked at it, Richard had not wanted to hurt their father in sabotaging the crops and he certainly would never have dreamed of hurting his siblings. "Really, I am better than it lo..." His voice tailed away before the lie was out and a wave of nausea flooded his senses.

Richard stood awkwardly beside the bed, unsure of what he should be doing; his bedside manner left a great deal to be desired. He was much more familiar with being on the other side of the sick bed, but was no more comfortable with it. Searching for a suitable exit, he mumbled, "I'll fetch father, he'll he pleased to see you awake and cogent."

"Cogent?! Don't use the last of your brain cells coming up with a big word like that. I'd hate to think it was in a vain attempt to impress the wounded hero." Forcing a smile to his lips, Cedric heard something which sounded distinctly like a laugh come from his brother.

Richard returned to the side of the bed, "Then you really are all right...I mean, we are..."

Cedric wetted his lips slowly, "Yes. It is behind us, that is...You did tell Father."

"Yes, yes. He knows." Cedric frowned, tentatively touching a particularly sore bruise on his cheek. "There is one thing though..." He braced himself for the onslaught of worry and fuss which would undoubtedly ensue, "I can't see anything."

Richard paused, uncertain whether his brother was jesting, "Pardon?"

Cedric tried to sound casual, despite the fear which had begun to build inside him. Throughout his ordeal, all he could think of was getting back home and away from people who wanted him dead. Now, in the safety and warmth of his own bed, the reality of being blind for the rest of his life began to edge into his mind. "I am blind. I can't see anything."

"My God!" Richard's voice was barely a whisper.

Cedric put a hand out to him across the bed and his brother took it in an unusual show of affection. "Hey, don't give up on me yet. We don't know if it is permanent, in fact, the way I am feeling now, I am certain that with a few days rest I will be right as rain."

"I should tell Father immediately, he can call the healer."

Cedric shook his head as much as his injuries would allow, "No. There is no point upsetting him, and, as any worthy knight should know, there is little anyone can do for a head injury if it cannot mend itself."

Richard interjected, "So you are just going to lie there and pretend everything is all right and that you can see for the sake of worrying a few people! Don't be ludicrous."

"No, I simply want a few more moments of respite before I have to put up with Father's constant nagging and questioning. I swear even if I can't see his face, I will be able to feel every wince and every urgent expression he pulls." Looking in Richard's direction, he pleaded, "Just a while longer, Richard. Please."

Richard was reluctant to let Cedric stay unattended for a moment more, but conceded the point that Thomas would simply worry, something which never did anyone any good. Besides, he had to admit that facing his father was the last thing Richard wanted to do right now. He stayed with Cedric for the next hour, talking about anything unrelated to their most recent adventures, until the rest of the castle came to life and Eleanor knocked quietly at the door. She poked her head around the door before either man could answer, her hair a tangle of red curls, framing brilliant green eyes filled with concern and then glee that Cedric was awake. "Cedric! We were so worried. How are you feeling?"

In her joy, Eleanor did not wait for a reply before pouncing on the bed and launching into a long and elated speech about how happy their father and Lady Elizabeth will be. Both Cedric and Richard were relieved not to have to tell their sister about Cedric's sight until Thomas arrived, but their plan was soon sent to ruins. Eleanor looked sternly at her bruised and battered brother, "Look me in the eye and tell me that you will never do such a silly thing again." The tone was one of jest but her eyes never left her brother's face, who was staring at the sheets, intently.

"I wish I could, but I am afraid that is just not possible."

Eleanor looked questioningly at Richard, who could not bear to listen to Cedric downplaying his disability, so he said, inpatiently, "He can't see. The blows to his head have affected his vision and he can't see a thing."

Eleanor did not move, her face frozen in the half playful smile in which her comment was meant. Then, slowly, her mouth fell into a look of shock and shame, drawing her brow into a frown. "Oh, Cedric."

Cedric sighed in exasperation, "Not you as well. I am sure it is nothing, a simple matter of swelling on the brain or something. These things happen all the time on the battlefield and are rectified after a week's rest."

Eleanor looked hopefully at Richard, who shrugged, his face drawn into an expression of silent disbelief. Having asked the requisite question of whether their father knew, Eleanor insisted on finding him, and a few moments later, Cedric's bed was surrounded by his family with Thomas was fussing and mumbling, his face pale against the dark blue of his robes. To save Cedric from the torture of his parent's anxiety both Richard and Eleanor set aside their own fears about his eyesight and backed up his story that it would pass within a few days. Thomas was forced to accept their decision to do nothing except continue with cold compresses and plenty of rest, despite his desires to the contrary.

* * *

For the rest of the day, each member of the family tended to Cedric's every need and spent the rest of their time leisurely outside in the fresh air. Eleanor even agreed to one of Lady Elizabeth's music lessons to avoid upsetting Thomas and aggravating him in his present state of worry.  
That evening, they all joined Cedric in his chambers for dinner, chatting and joking to cover the fraught atmosphere which surrounded them all. They ate quickly and Thomas stood to leave, saying, "Richard, could I have a word with you?"

Eleanor looked to her brother; they had all been waiting for this, for the big argument and inquisition over his rash actions with Baron Arden.

Once inside his father's chambers, Richard prepared himself for the reprimand he had both expected and deserved. Thomas looked weary and as reluctant to say anything as his son, as if his duty as a father in such matters was as tedious and exhausting as any paperwork. "I don't think I need to tell you what this is about, Richard. Sit down."

Taking his place beside the fire, Richard joined his father and took a deep breath. "I don't know what to say, what you want to hear..." Thomas made no promptings, no outbursts of anger, but simply stared into the flames in the hearth. "I don't know what I was thinking. Arden took me by surprise, he made it sound so impossible to tell anyone of the accident. The circumstances were so unusual and I was convinced that no one would believe me. There didn't seem to be any other way."

At this point, his father quietly interrupted, his voice hollow with fatigue, "Here lies your biggest fault, Richard." His refusal to turn his eyes from the flames to his son somehow made the words seem even more painful to his son. The knowledge that it was his stupidity which had brought about such a change, that even his own father could no longer find the energy to discipline his son on yet another error in several catalogues of similar issues; it was almost too much for Richard to bear, but the diminished voice continued, "You must always do everything alone. Your family mean nothing to you except when they need protecting from physical danger. Never once in all your years have you compromised your position as a hero, a knight of the realm, to save those close to you from the mental crimes you continuously commit against them. You hurt me by not listening to me, by not coming to me with your problems before they are beyond anyone's control and require a king's pardon. No fight is ever too big, no problem too great to be overcome by Richard Grey."

Finally, Thomas looked at his son, and Richard regretted it because now he could see plainly all the wrongs he had done etched into his father's face - in every wrinkle, every grey hair and the dimming light in his eyes. "Father..."

Thomas raised his hand to silence him, "Let me finish. There have been times when I have been proud of you, times when I have all but given up on seeing you survive your next birthday, but this...I must wash my hands of all responsibility for what you have done." At this, his expression melted into a mixture of love and sadness. "I love you, Richard. You are my son and you know that I will do everything in my power to help you extricate yourself from this...situation. However, a man can only climb so high on the ladder to the king's favour, and I fear we have already asked too much to be overlooked. From now on, you must look to yourself for the help, just as you have looked to yourself in the fight."

Richard nodded slowly; the weight of his father's words resonated deep inside him and there was a heaviness surrounding the room which marked a new change in the world as he had known it. He was a man now, no longer the boyish figure in whom everything could be dismissed as jest or lack of experience. The only words he could form were feeble and he was loath to say them again, as he had done countless times before. "I am sorry, Father."

Thomas nodded, his face making no sign of judgement. Taking his leave, Richard quickly returned to his own room, grateful to escape the dense, guilty silence which suffocated him with his father.  
For the first time, he realised that no error would ever be forgiven again with a harsh word or a few days in coventry. He was a man now and must act accordingly. Taking a deep breath, Richard decided to have a bath and change, despite the late hour. If he was to become a new man, he wanted to mark it and feel it throughout his whole body. His father had given him plenty of food for thought and he needed some space to contemplate everything that he had said.

Having set the servants about getting the tub ready, within half an hour, Richard was lying back in the hot water, inhaling the aroma of the scented leaves which swirled around his body and tickled his skin. He scrubbed himself from head to toe with the imported Spanish soap, a gift from Lady Elizabeth. Then, still feeling like the admonished little boy, he decided to shave and cut his hair, skilfully maneouevering the sharpened knife across his jaw. Despite his crude hair cutting talents, Richard managed to create a passable style, aided by unruly curls which refused to fall in with the rest of his hair. He rubbed his teeth carefully with a hazel twig before dragging himself out of the soothing water and rubbing himself down roughly on the cold stone floor.

Still shivering slightly against the draught, Richard combed his hair and chose a black doublet over a white shirt and matching black breeches. To anyone else, he looked a figure of manly beauty and vigour - tendrils curling across his forehead and highlighting his chiselled cheekbones of ivory white. He cut a fine figure, but Richard was oblivious to it, focused solely on the path he must now take and the days which lay ahead before his trial began.

* * *

Taking his horse out to the fields, Richard spent the night wide awake, planning his defense, assessing every possible outcome which Arden's trial would hold. He remained calm and level-headed in the face of such adversity, determined to make his father proud of him, regardless of the circumstances.

Meanwhile, Eleanor had stayed with Cedric, talking quietly about what might have passed between their father and brother. Finally, they exhausted that subject, since speculation held little use and Cedric had forbidden Eleanor to go and listen at the door in spite of his own curiosity. Taking in her brother's battered visage, Eleanor said, "I think it is time I had a look at those bruises. The swelling seems to have reached its peak, it should subside soon."

Cedric winced before she had even touched him, "Can't the wounded have a moment's respite from you people?! You are always prodding and poking me, and I am certain that I am no better for it."

Eleanor wrung water from the cloth and tentatively pressed it to her brother's cheek as he wriggled beneath her hand. "Stay still or this will only hurt more!" Aware that there was little he could do, Cedric let out an audible sigh of exasperation and closed his eyes as the reeling pain his his head began to abate. He relaxed against the bolsters which he had been propped up on and soon he had slipped back into restful sleep.

Eleanor gazed affectionately down on her brother, his dark hair emphasizing the pallor of his cheeks, despite the blue bruises which stained them. He looked strangely serene when the ravages of torture were so clearly marked on him. His breathing was deep and even and Eleanor watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before the door opened and Richard entered. She quickly raised a finger to her lips and motioned towards the door, and he stepped back out into the hallway. "Richard? You look very...clean."

Her face was playful and Richard nodded quickly, eager to pass over the subject as soon as possible. "Yes, yes. Tell me, how is he?"

Eleanor shrugged, her voice weakening slightly, "He is fine, he is..." She looked up at her brother desperately, her lip trembling and her eyes glazing over with a sheen of tears ready to spill at any moment. She gasped, "Oh, Richard."

Pulling her to him, he ran his hand across her back, "It will be all right, Eleanor. He will get well again."

Her small frame heaved against him, her body racked with sobs, "But will he see again? It is too awful to sit back and watch him...so helpless."

Richard cradled his sister against him, crushing her close, "I know, I know, but..." At this, he pulled her away from him and held her arms tightly, forcing her to look at him, "He will be fine, Eleanor. I feel certain of it. Just give him time."

Eleanor's gaze held his for a moment, then began to trace across his doublet, "And what about you, Richard? Will you be fine?"

Richard's jaw tightened, uncomfortable with the thought of what he would have to face now. "Yes. I... Yes." Sparing her a wild glance, he quickly disappeared down the corridor.

Eleanor let the last tears course down her cheeks as he leaned back against the stone wall. Everything was such a mess, how could their world have been turned upside down so quickly? First Richard, now Cedric, and even Thomas had become a different person since Richard had told them all what had happened. Irreversible changes had occurred because of Baron Arden and only his arrest would begin to repair the damage that he had caused to her family.

* * *

Eleanor slept uneasily that night, unaware that her brother lay awake in the fields outside, planning his own future as a murderer and a traitor in his own house. At some time, though, she must have slept because the next thing she knew, the servants were preparing her wash basin and laying out clothes for the day. Eleanor sat up and rubbed her eyes against the bright sunlight streaming in through the casement. She had dwelt on her brothers' predicaments for many hours and now she had come to the conclusion that if there was nothing she could do for Cedric, at least she could help Richard clear his name. The name of Sir Pellion was familiar to her and she was determined to find out as much as she could about him. After all, why would a man of his stature disguise himself as a peasant and purposely pick a fight in a tavern at night? It was much too suspicious to be overlooked, and Eleanor knew that Richard would have too much to think about to investigate it himself.

She washed herself as quickly as possible and slipped into a comfortable pair of trousers with a loose, blue shirt and brown belt. Uncertain of exactly what she was looking for, Eleanor bolted her breakfast and decided to look in on Cedric before setting out for the village in the hope of uncovering the mystery. When she opened her brother's door, she was surprised to find it still dimly lit, as the servants had been told not to disrupt his rest.

Tiptoeing in, Eleanor leaned over the bed; Cedric was fast asleep, his face turned towards her and one arm flung out across the counterpane. He looked so peaceful and untroubled, quite unlike all the rest of his family. She reached out and lightly smoothed the hair from his forehead, and he immediately stirred, mumbling something unintelligble. Opening his eyes, Cedric's brow knitted and he turned to Eleanor, straining his vision. "Eleanor? Is that you?"

Eleanor gasped, "You can see me?" Cedric pulled himself slowly up into a semi-sitting position. "Cedric?"

"Well, it is all blurry, but I can see a blob that looks a lot like you...an improvement actually."

Eleanor slapped his arm, playfully. "Father will be so relieved to know that you have your sight back, and Richard!" She immediately lapsed into silence, aware of how difficult things must still be between the two brothers in light of how all of this happened.

Cedric sensed her unease, "Don't worry. We have sorted everything out. I mean, I can't be responsible for his guilt, regardless of how justified it might be." The jovial tone in which the comment was meant was barely perceptible and Eleanor's silence affirmed it, "Eleanor! I am joking! Richard can be an idiot, but he didn't mean for this to happen, and, short of a sore head for the next hundred years, everything can get back to normal."

Eleanor went to the window pulled back the curtains. "All except the little matter of a murdered man."

Cedric quickly interposed, "It was an accident. Surely the king will see that and have him pardoned."

Eleanor turned back to the bed and perched on the edge, "I am not so sure. In fact, since you are a prisoner in your own bed and can't stop me, I might as well tell you that I am going to investigate this Pellion man."

Cedric nodded. It was so typical of his headstrong sister to be suspicious. "Of course I can't stop you, but I can tell you that I think it is a ridiculous idea. What on earth do you expect to achieve by poking around in his affairs? If anything, a juror might think you were out to destroy evidence to help Richard."

Eleanor stood up, defiantly, "Why would they think that? It isn't like Richard planned any of this. There wouldn't be any evidence to find. Besides, why was a man of Pellion's standing sneaking around in disguise at such an hour? It doesn't make any sense, and it seems all too convenient that Arden was around at just the right time." She eyed Cedric, hoping to gauge his response, but he was staring hard at the foot of the bed. "Cedric? Are you listening to me?"

"Yes. For once, I think you are right. Perhaps I should come with you, though. It is a risky business."

Eleanor shook her head, "Don't be absurd! There is nothing you could do, you need rest and plenty of it. Leave this to me. Although, you could help me decide where to start." Settling herself back on the bed, she began to relate all the different people who might be involved.

* * *

She decided to wait for an hour before setting off for town, where she had chosen to begin with interrogating Baron Arden as to his role in setting Richard up. She had no trouble worming her way into the prison cell where he was being held, a suitably dismal room for such a man and she took great pleasure in pointing out its merits to the baron while he sat mutely on the wooden pallet in the corner. At first, Eleanor did nothing more than recount his merciless acts to him, and, when she felt that he had been insulted enough, she prepared to turn the screws. Before she had a chance to begin, the baron interrupted her, "I am certain that you did not come all this way from your comfortable castle to remind me of my exploits. Perhaps you would cut to the chase before I lose my patience and have you removed."

Eleanor was determined not to be intimidated by this villain, and lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. "You are right, Baron. I have no desire to stay here any longer than is necessary, but, as you well know, you have placed my brother in a difficult situation. It is for this reason that I have come to you."

With a sly smile, Arden smoothly inquired, "Which brother would that be?"

Eleanor was unruffled, although she could barely believe that someone could be so cold. "Richard. I have come to the conclusion that Sir Pellion's death was no coincidence. In fact, I am sure that it was your hand that murdered him to set my brother up." She waited for some response of indignation or denial, but none came. "Well? Do you deny it?"

"I see no reason why I should respond to anything that you might have to say, young woman. I will offer you some advice though, ladies are all the better for not troubling their heads with notions above their capabilities."

Eleanor smarted at the cutting remark, but many years of brotherly torment had steeled her against such comments. "I might agree were I not certain that I am correct in my assumptions. Since you do not deny it, I will accept your silence as a 'yes'. In the event of my submitting this to the hands of your gaolers or even the king, I feel certain that they will exchange imprisonment for the death sentence."

The baron's eyes were black holes beneath his heavy eyebrows and Eleanor could barely perceive the anger which began to show through his mask of passivity. He sneered, "The king would never believe you."

Eleanor sensed the tension in his voice and was buoyed up with renewed enthusiasm. "Well, well, there is only one way to determine that. However, I think we would all be grateful to avoid a public, national embarrassment. It would do nothing for your family or mine, don't you agree?"

The baron leaned forward into the light of the room, his face suddenly alive with wary delight. "Ahh, a deal." Eleanor allowed a sliver of a smile to break as she sat down on the stool opposite the prisoner.

* * *

"Cedric?" Thomas was convinced that his son would be dead by the time he saw him next, his worry getting the better of him. Leaning around the door, he anxiously moved towards the motionless figure in the bed. The boy was sleeping, his face a mask of utter contentment beneath the fading bruises and subsiding swelling. "Cedric?" Thomas lightly touched his shoulder and his son opened his eyes, wearily,

"Father. What hour is it?"

"Late afternoon."

Cedric sat up, rubbing his eyes tentatively, pulling his hands away quickly when he caught a tender bruise on his temple. "What is the matter?"

Thomas sat beside his son, "Nothing is the matter, I simply came to check on you. I wanted to make sure you were..."

Cedric pulled an exasperated face, then looked at his father, seriously, "Well, I can see again - thank God."

Thomas gave a sigh of relief, "Thank goodness, we all feared the worst."

Cedric nodded, "Yes, well, the Greys do tend to inspire one trouble after another. It would just be another feather in our cap of woe, I suppose. Still, I am fine - as I have been saying for the past few hours."

Thomas smiled weakly, "Yes, well, your brother has played a large part in our recent scrapes."

Cedric pursed his lips, "Mmm. He means well, Father."

"Meaning well does not excuse his constant determination to accept no help and take everything onto his own shoulders." He paused for a moment. "I fear I was too harsh on him when we spoke before."

Cedric imagined that Richard's absence from the castle had been a result of a bad audience with his father and when Thomas himself thought the punishment hard, it must have been bad! "He did kill a man, let's not forget that. Accident or no accident, it went a great deal further than a simple tavern brawl."

Thomas nodded, sadly. "Nevertheless, it was an accident. I meant every word when I told him he must act like a knight now, no more childish antics. However, he has a lot to worry about now and I don't want him to give up because I have not stood by him."

Cedric had wanted to avoid telling his father about what Eleanor was up to, but since today seemed to be a day for truths, he felt it right to inform him. "Actually, I think Richard may clear his name yet."

Thomas' eyes widened in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"Eleanor told me the details of Pellion's death and it doesn't look quite as innocent as we had thought. She went to speak with Arden, to extract a few facts from him."

Thomas stood up, hurriedly, "Damn that girl! She will only cause more trouble!"

Cedric tried vainly to calm his agitated father, "Father, it really isn't that bad. She will be back soon, what harm can she possibly have done?"

Thomas fumed like an angry bull for the best part of fifteen minutes before the sound of footsteps in the corridor brought him to a halt. Much to Thomas' annoyance, it was not his wayward daughter, but Richard. "Well, at least I can keep an eye on both of you, even if your sister refuses to obey my commands."

Richard, still looking the part of a man five years older than his years, looked at Cedric in confusion. "What has Eleanor done?"

Cedric glanced at his brother in exasperation, as if to warn him about setting Thomas' rants back in motion, but Richard changed the subject, "You can see!"

Cedric rolled his eyes, "Would everyone stop sounding so surprised. It was you who said it in the first place. No, I am not going to be a doddering blind person for the rest of my life, now can we please change the subject."

Richard couldn't stop the grin which began spreading from ear to ear; even if his own life was a mess, at least his family were free from grief for a while longer. Thomas looked sternly at his children, "There is really nothing to laugh at." Rounding on Richard, he pointed a finger accusingly at him, "Your sister has taken it on herself to clear your name through blackmail."

Richard's face fell, "What? Where did she go?"

Cedric tried to stop his father from repeating the whole situation with as many embellishments as possible, but once the man was on a tirade, there was little anyone could do to stop him until he exhausted himself.

It was in the midst of this gust of hot air that the errant Eleanor returned, running up the stairs while trying to catch the breath she had lost somewhere between the town and the castle. "Ahh, you're all here. Perfect."

Thomas' eyes bulged as if they would pop out of his head. "Perfect!" Richard and Cedric cast their sister a sympathetic glance, that she should now be the object of their father's anger. "How can you say 'perfect'?! You have been as foolish as your brother! How did I come to raise such pig-headed children as these!? You never listen to a word that I say and drive our good name through the mud! Your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew everything that has happened since her death!"

Eleanor listened to his words without interruption and then took a deep breath, her smile widening as she looked at the incredulous gazes of her family. "Richard is free. There will be no trial and Arden has admitted to everything."

Not even Thomas could think of anything to say in response to such overwhelming news, but Cedric voiced the question on everyone's lips, "How did you manage that?"

Eleanor sat down, pouring herself a glass of wine from the decanter beside the bed to congratulate her ingenuity. "Don't worry, I didn't compromise Richard in any way. I forged a deal with Arden, that we would not force him into a public trial at court if he admitted how he had blackmailed Richard. After a little nudge in the right direction, he told me how Pellion had been an old ally gone bad, he owed Arden a great deal of money but refused to pay it on the grounds that Arden owed him for some life saving deed he had performed on the battlefield years ago. Anyway, Pellion demanded more money which Arden refused and he became so sick of the whinging little man that he told him that money could be found by befriending the Greys. He said that Richard frequented the local taverns and Pellion decided to play the part of a knight on the run from thieves, in order to gain Richard's trust. It was Arden's plan that Richard should lose his temper, then he could then finish the job but still place the blame on us." Eleanor drained the goblet and settled back into the chair, smugly, "So, you see, I have solved everything."

Richard sat back on the bed, somewhat deflated, "Yes, but at what price did he give this information?"

Eleanor shrugged, "I told you. He will not have a public trial. In fact, I told him that all charges would be dropped and that we would not divulge anything about his various headquarters as long as he never set foot in our county again. Surprisingly, he thought the demands to be fair."

Thomas broke the stunned silence which followed, "Well, you have outdone yourself, Eleanor. This does not mean that you are to do anything so rash again. Do I make myself clear? That goes for all of you." He stared menacingly at his assembled children, who meekly promised, although it was only Richard who actually meant a single word of it!

THE END


End file.
